League of Legends: Judgements
by Waffleface
Summary: My own Judgements for several champions in League of Legends. T for violence, suggestiveness, and language. May or may not be upped to M in the future
1. Singed, the Mad Chemist

_Well, I'm making my own Judgements. Not much to say here._

_Being the troll he is (and my second favorite solotop after someone you'll see later) I figured I'd do Singed first._

* * *

**Candidate: Singed**

**Date: October 27, 19 CLE**

**OBSERVATION:**

Eager, yet calculated footsteps echo across the stone floor of the Great Hall, giving away the anticipation and cool observation of their owner. Brown leather boots come to a stop halfway across the hall, causing the walker's shadow to extend in front of him, up to the imposing doorway on the other side of the passageway. Singed looks down at his own shape, cast in front of him by the light from the entrance.

A lanky outline looks back at him, the upper body obstructed by a cylindrical object. Gaze moving back up from the floor, he looks over his shoulder at the large green glass bottle strapped to his thin back, remembering with smug pride the difficulty it took to brew the viscous liquid that bubble dangerously inside, barely contained by the oversized cork on the top. His bony limbs look like they could barely hold his own weight, let alone the concoction he's carrying, but underneath the bandages lies a body toughened by chemical burns.

He scratches his gauze-wrapped chin with a bandaged hand, the brown wrist guards bumping against his red, bulky chestplate, which adds nonexistant dimension to his upper body. His other arm is occupied with the spiked, rectangular shield of red and yellow, wrapped around his wrist while the fingers clutch another corked potion. Spiked pauldrons of the same coloration as the rest of his armored clothing rest upon his thin shoulders.

Bald save for several spiky, burnt strands of hair, the chemist moves his hand down from his face as he steps forward, the distance between the doors and himself closing with every movement. As the doorway before him opens, his pallid cheeks, or as much of them as can be seen above the medical cloth, curl in a cruelly satisfied grin. Continuing forward with new gusto, Singed steps into the doorway with an almost affable hum, not bothering to read the inscription above the entrance as his mind casually turned away from that which does not interest him.

**REFLECTION:**

The darkness that enshrouded Singed as he entered the Reflecting Chamber wasn't terribly disturbing, not to him. It took a great deal more than a lack of light to affect the Zaunite in any way. His curiosity having been piqued beforehand, he now tapped his foot as he waited in the blackness before he finally moved to call out out-but as he did so, the words were stolen from his mouth.

He wasn't standing in the Reflection chamber any more, no longer did he feel the stone beneath his feet and the silence in the air. Grass crunched beneath his boots, and the wind blew his scant hair from side to side.

Far below, down in the valley upon which he was suddenly looking down upon from a highly elevated position, black, spike-armored soldiers huddled together in close defensive formation. Surrounding them, on all sides, was a steadily growing ring of enemy soldiers, their armor shades of silver and red. The black figures in the center were hard pressed on all sides, clearly outnumbered, outmatched, and in no position to defeat their opponents. The ruins-and somewhat intact-houses of a village formed the stage of their battle, the destroyed buildings still flaming in the clear blue sky.

The first thing Singed noticed was the noise. In the beginning, it was a steady, dizzying hum, like if one of those Zaun-developed rifles had just been fired at close range near your ears. He shook his head, eyes briefly closing as he tried to clear his mind from the nauseating screech. The stench of smoke began to waft over his nostrils, but he took no heed, having been desensitized to horrendous smells long ago.

"Sir...?"

A female voice spoke up next to him, prying for his attention yet clearly intimidated by his presence. Giving his head another shake-whoever it was could wait-he opened his eyes and beheld a woman, armored beyond recognition in the fashion of a Noxian Corporal. Her serrated spear was held nervously in her hands, a token of her proximity to him.

Singed chuckled darkly, looking down at the female officer.

"Yes, dear?"

The honorific was used mockingly, a clear attempt to discomfort and condescend the soldier. Judging by how she held back a flinch, it worked.

"N-Noxian High Command has just delivered their response to Commander Riven's request for reinforcements."

She gulped, clearly uncomfortable. Singed turned away from her in annoyance, dropping his attempts to further frighten her.

"This pertains to us how?"

The soldier bit her lip, and the next words flew out of her mouth in a flurry, as if she longed to say them at last and get if over with-or she could no longer bear to keep them to herself.

"T-they have ordered the entirety of the Coeur Valley-to be...to be melted, sir."

Singed overlooked the approaching battle, the two sides still not having quite clashed at this point, recalling that the Noxian forces below consisted entirely of Noxus' Fury Company of the 42nd standard regiment. He knew for a fact that reinforcements were not in any position to reach the beleagued Noxian armies within the next hour. The Ionians had them surrounded, anyway, though Singed's assigned unit was safe up on the overlooking mountain.

He turned to his left to overlook his prized melters. What might at first appear to be large wagons with a cannon mounted on the front were, in fact, a marvel of Zaunite ingenuity and Noxian warfare. Certainly, the wheels were primitive, but at least it didn't require an entire team of horses to transport it-it could be pulled by any good beast or two to where it needed. The machine itself was slightly larger than a horse, but was mostly light wood, with the only metal components being the launch apparatus-the barrel was loaded in from the back, the detonator was linked to all the active devices, and with the press of a button, the small pocket of gas was ignited, propelling the projectiles forward with incredible force. Upon reaching its target destination, they exploded, spreading their contents around the landing zone.

It was Singed's most prized invention, one of his few sources of pride besides himself and his concoctions.

The melters were an insurance, in case the Ionians overwhelmed the Noxians below and the former needed to be eradicated-the village boxed them in, preventing the enemy from escaping. A brilliant tactical decision by whoever was in charge to force the Ionians to where they could not escape. Of course, the soldiers below knew not that they had been there the whole time-a small battalon for the sake of transporting and protecting the melters.

But apparently the same tacticians had also chosen to be impatient. The Noxians had not yet been destroyed by the sudden influx of Ionian reinforcements. They would too be destroyed by this chemical assault, and if his many hypotheses were any conclusion, it wouldn't be pleasant.

The melters had already been readied, aiming down at the approaching soldiers. Singed carried the detonator in his hand. With one press of a button, soldiers of two nations would be scoured from the face of Valoran, and the land along with it.

His thumb hit the trigger.

A powerful _whump_ could be heard as ten melters simultaneously fired their caskets on either side of him. The green barrels streaked through the air, spinning and leaving a filthy purplish trail in their wake. Both armies stopped their actions, looking up at the approaching projectiles-too shocked to fight, scream, or even run.

And then the first projectile hit.

Singed felt the stench of toxic, rancid air hit his nostrils as a green and purple explosion of acid and gas flew out from the targeted area. For a brief second, he could see the soldiers fly in every direction from the force of the explosion, some of them literally bursting as their insides liquified, their organs exploding from within. And then the smog settled in a cloud over the entire valley as the other explosions landed, their gases obstructing his view of the effects of his greatest poison.

But it didn't matter. He had seen enough. It was brilliant.

Slowly, as Singed overlooked the devastation below him, not even caring if he could no longer see the results, he began to laugh. His voice took on a low rumble of approving laughter, before rising into a dark, frightening cackle. He raises his arms to the sky, now purple with toxic gases, detonator in hand as he cast a terrifying silhouette before the destruction, and laughed his success at the Ionians, at the Noxians, at the whole world.

He had done it! Despite every obstacle, despite the silly, primitive politics of Noxus, he had done it! The perfect poison, the destroyer of armies, the weapon of the future bore HIS name! Massive armies would be rendered obsolete, and a future fueled by merely the threat of chemical warfare would come upon them.

It was perfect.

"Why do you want to join the League?"

Singed's laughter died in his mouth as the woman's voice from before came back to him. He turned, eyes narrowed, towards the soldier behind him. She spoke again, a cold, male voice echoing out from under her helmet.

"Why do you want to join the League?"

He wrinkled his nose, annoyed as he remembered where he was. He was no longer in northern Shon-Xan, Ionia, on the Noxian Campaign. The chemist was standing in the Institute of War. Though his surroundings still appeared to be Ionian, the world had begun to blur until it was only him, the woman, and a faded background.

"It's about far more than simply testing my alchemy, Summoner."

He waved his arms, gesturing to the fading scene around him.

"Treat me as you would a monster, mage. Call me amoral. Call me any number of names which have been spat at me over the years, most of which are correctly applied. But know that I am brilliant, and a brilliant scientist never forgets their duty to progress the world along. Your Fields of Justice are my new laboratory-and the launchpad of a new age of warfare."

The figure remains passive, droning out their next rehearsed line. The world around them has faded, and the exit shines in front of Singed, behind the Summoner in a soldier's clothing.

"And how does it feel, exposing your mind?"

Singed scoffs, stepping forward and grabbing the figure with his shield-hand and throwing him over his shoulder. The body flew in the air before landing with a thud behind him, dazed.

"I don't care what you think of my thoughts, as horrifying as I know they must seem to you. Do what you wish with the knowledge."

Without waiting for a response, Singed exited the Reflecting Chamber, moving quickly yet with confidence in himself, leaving the Summoner in the room behind him. He had experiments to run.

* * *

_And of course, Singed is kind of a troll in-universe, too._

_I tried to make him not cartoonishly evil. If I failed or succeeded, let me know._

_Review please. I'll be doing more Judgements._


	2. Renekton, the Butcher of the Sands

_Next up is possibly my favorite solotop, Renekton! Having my second judgement be a 'nontraditional' one probably isn't a great idea, but we'll see how it goes!_

* * *

**Candidate: Renekton**

**Date: 14 January, 21 CLE**

**Observation**

"Curator, I'm afraid that on behalf of the Institute of War, I cannot allow you to-"

"I know very well what is forbidden, and it does not concern me!"

The Summoner gulped, looking up at the dog-headed figure of Nasus towering above him. With black skin that he knew had the capacity to turn to stone and golden armor dotted with green gems covering most of his onyx form, Nasus was the image of imposing.

The normally serene Curator slammed his emerald-shaded staff's point into the ground, teeth grinding in frustration as his left hand caressed the eye-shaped head of his weapon. He had come so far, and this slip of a mage thought he could keep the Librarian from his goal?

Even with the grudging respect he had for this planet's denizens, they had no right to keep him from the brother that should have been destroyed so long ago. And now, with the possibility of finally fulfilling his goal, to see this _impudent little Summoner_ try and stop him caused his resolve to go over the edge.

"Allow me through, Summoner, before I act with justified wrath and concern myself with the consequences later."

The poor Summoner in question quivered, but to his credit, maintained his post. Voice cracking, he held his ground.

"I...I cannot allow you to enter this cell, Curator."

Nasus's red eyes glinted dangerously, his famous patience worn thin at last. The thought that this Summoner was merely following orders disappeared from his mind as one thought consumed him: that he deserved to see his brother, whatever the outcome. He took his staff in both hands and lifted it above him, preparing to squash the impudent young man and move forward, unimpeded by the obstacle the Summoner represented.

Muscles barely straining from the effort to move a weapon that would take three humans to lift, let alone use, the head of Nasus's staff came careening down towards the Summoner with enough force to kill the boy five times over. He heard the intake of breathe of a human knowing they were about to die, but his usually keen ears, drugged with rage, failed to make out the approaching footsteps. His staff suddenly stopped, and he felt the vibration reverberate up his paws, leaving them singing in pain as blood pounded in his ears.

Two older Summoners stood next to him, having approached him from behind, and had raised their hands in synch to block his block. A yellow barrier encircled the head of his staff, inches away from crushing the jailer's head, preventing its movement.

Groaning in frustration, Nasus ripped his weapon free of the shield, not even bothering to turn as he spoke to the new arrivals, annoyance dripping from his tone.

"You will not stop me, Summoners."

A low chuckle greeted his words, and he finally deigned to turn and face the mage on his left. A wizened female voice, ripe with experience and age, drifted out of the hood that covered her face.

"There is no need, Curator. The Institute was aware that you would react in this way, and has deigned to give you access..provided you do not harm the prisoner, and leave your weapon outside the chamber. Under those conditions, will you see him?"

The tall being paused, weighing his options. What could they possibly want from Renekton that they would keep him alive, his brother's mind as warped a state as it was when he last beheld him? The Curator had several theories, but it would all be moot if he did not at least see his brother. Leaning his staff on the wall outside the massive doorway, straining to maintain the illusion that he had calmed down, Nasus agreed.

"Excellent. Summoner Helmight, you may step aside. Thank you for your endurance."

With a nervous nod, the Summoner moved over, allowing Nasus access to a stone, magic-sealed door that was taller than even Nasus himself, which prompted him some concern. He knew for a fact that Renekton matched his height...why did they require a larger door, then? Putting his question aside, the Curator waited for the elder female Summoner to unseal the magical securities, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him before the Summoners could enter.

**Reflection:**

"But, sir, please! I, I...I have a sick child, several unhealthy children! Just allow me access to your herbal research wing, please!"

A bipedal crocodile towered over the tan-skinned man, red eyes looking pitilessly down at the groveling form. A crown of forgotten metal encircled the back of his head, with bands of the same material covering his wrists and neck. A simple loincloth covered the reptilian being's pelvis, with a hole cut in the back for the monstrously spiny tail that whipped about behind him.

The creature's gaze roved back over the prostrate being, head echoing with the thoughts of the man below him. _If only I can convince this brute, I'll get access to formulas for all the poisons I'll ever need! Come on, beg more! How smart can it be, anyway?_

Renekton gnashed his teeth, dozens of sharp incisors snapping next to each other as his massive jaws crashed closed with a clap, silencing the man's bubbling wails. The bow-shaped blade with a three segmented handles that occupied his right claw glinted dangerously in the desert sun.

"More lies! Leave now, deceiver, before I have you collect all the bits of yourself!"

_Wait, no! Come on, one more try!_

"...Sir! My...my child, my children will die if I don't study this medicine! I'm sure your broth-"

With a great roar, Renekton brought his huge blade down with terrifying force. Slicing vertically, it cut cleanly into the ground, leaving a slit in the yellow stone as he lifted the blade.

Cowering, the man looked to his side, where a cut in the ground nearly as wide across as himself, and certainly longer, filled quickly with sand a hair away from severing his shoulder. Whimpering, the liar and would-be-poisoner looked up at the furious, terrifying figure of Renekton, watching a drop of saliva as large as his head hit the ground in front of him with a _plop_!

"Depart before I leave you in pieces!"

The man needed no second bidding. Bent double, he fled, sweat running down him in rivulets, into the desert.

With a great sigh, Renekton fell to the ground, sitting with his tail curling over his shins as he shoveled sand out of the hole he had made with a huge claw and watched it refill itself. He did not regret his duty as Guardian of Nasus's library one whit, but it was tiring to play the part of a terror-inducing warden constantly. It didn't help that it did nothing but paint an unflattering picture of himself. No one remembered the inquisitive students, the children and pilgrims he allowed through with an authentic, toothy smile at their purity. All that remained in the memories of his people were the many, many instances where he turned away those with ill intent.

It seemed that he only really encountered evil-minded individuals anymore. Where did the young couples, seeking information on how to be with their lover in the most pleasurable way? Where were the doctors, searching for new remedies to improve health and cure disease? Why did no more teachers, no more scholars arrive?

_Perhaps they were all gone_, he mused. _Perhaps nobody was left who sought to use the vast knowledge of his brother's library for good purposes. Maybe all that remained were the murderers, the tyrants, the liars and cheaters._

The instant this thought came into his scaly head, Renekton chastised himself. He just needed to be patient, like Nasus sorting his vast collection of books, and the virtuous ones would come.

* * *

And so he waited, relaying none of his concerns to his brother. Nasus did care for him, and Renekton loved his brother, but once they had taken up their respective roles as Librarian and Guardian, his jackal-headed sibling had spent less and less time with his brother, though Renekton knew it was not malicious. Nasus was simply busy, and Renekton was not one of his concerns.

But the virtuous would not come, or at least not often enough. For every responsible mother-to-be looking for information on how to care for her unborn child, there were three villains who thought to use the library for conquest, rape, or dishonesty.

Again, the thought entered his head, that there were no more who truly deserved this knowledge. And again, Renekton dismissed this notion, but it stuck longer than usual. So Renekton relayed his inquiry to his brother.

"Nasus," he began one evening as the two of them sat down for the evening meal delivered to them, Nasus's consisted of baked desert quail with palm apples, Renekton's being made up of roasted water buffalo.

"Do you suppose there are none left who seek to use your resources for good? I have turned away all who have journeyed here for the past two full moons."

His elder brother continued to chew his food, absorbed in his own thoughts (and the book in his hand: Renekton felt a twinge of disappointment that he chose to read during their meals), and replied, his mind half on the question.

"I am certain that there are, brother. Remain patient."

Renekton flinced at the judgemental tone in his brother's voice and caught how he brushed the question off, but did not press it. Nasus had a great duty too: he had more to concern himself with than the superfluous concerns of his younger crocodilian brother. Renekton would deal with whatever bothered him without annoying his brother, whose attention had returned to his book.

And yet, honest, well-intentioned individuals remained elusive, almost nonexistent. And every time he brushed another off, his subconscious would nag at him, whispering dire warnings, before fleeing his mind just as swiftly. But Renekton did not falter in his duty, and Nasus did not question for his brother's health.

* * *

After all, mused Renekton, why would he be concerned? Renekton was not sick, just getting slightly impatient.

_Maybe Nasus didn't care about him. Nasus thinks he's so much better than you, just because he works in the Library and doesn't have to deal with the worst of the humans.  
_

_That_ was sudden, and Renekton knew that such a thought was truly outrageous. Nasus loved him, and he loved Nasus, even if his older brother was a little...well, distant. They spoke less and less these days...

_There is nothing good to be gained by continued service without reward, from telling off the evil individuals who will be your only companions as Nasus grows distant._

The warden shook his head, leaning against the sandswept rock. That didn't make any sense. He knew the virtuous would find their way here...it was only a matter of time.

_It's been many moons since you allowed someone into the Library, Renekton._

True. Renekton wasn't all that concerned though, because-

_You should be. Can't you see? There are no more good people coming because there are _none left_. You will never allow another into this library._

No! That didn't make any sense! Why was this voice suddenly bothering him so? It never did before-just the occasional annoying, festering statement!

...Wait, this voice was a part of him, right? He was just engaging in a verbal debate with himself over stupid, impossible hypothetical situations.

_You're alone. Everyone else wants to misuse this knowledge, this power. And Nasus will allow them.  
_

"Shut _up_!"

For the first time, Renekton actually spoke out loud against the noise that pounded in his head. Why wouldn't it just leave him alone?

_Your duty is to guard this knowledge, and subsequently, the world. Guarding the world entails destroying evil. And all who seek this library have malice in their hearts._

_"Shut up!"  
_

_You cannot trust anyone, and must destroy everyone before they threaten you. None are trustworthy. Not even Nasus._

Why wasn't it _shutting u_-

"E-excuse me?"

Renekton's eyes snapped open and his head whipped to the side, his long jaw snapping in confusion.

Everything looked red. The normally auburn stones were painted a deep shade of crimson, the sky above reflecting the blood-red hue of the world. He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear to suffocating color from his gaze.

"Excuse me?"

His vision was still clear, even if all colors besides the omnipresent rose were subdued, and his eyes looked down to behold a figure before him: a woman, this time, wrapped in silks with nothing but her pale forehead and eyes showing from between the slit of her hood.

Renekton gnashed his teeth, struggling to remain in control. A great fury rose within him at the sight of her, and his muscles felt as if they sought to burst free from the constraints of his scales. Everything hurt-his head throbbed, his limbs screamed, his jaw ached.

But through it all, inability to control his capacity to pierce the frail walls that humans erected around their minds brought a phrase into his mind.

_Now, if only I can get access to the troop movements of our enemies, then my lord will-_

He could bear it no longer. The voice in his head stabbed through his consciousness, obliterating his thoughts with howling volume.

_Kill her! Feast on her flesh! She is one of them as well!_

With a roar that sent her hood flying off her face, exposing a shaven head and eyes widened in terror, Renekton lunged vision totally red. His powerful body rejoiced in the new, aggressive movement. His free hand came down with the force of his weight behind it, the air singing as his claws cut through it, and pushed her down, the ground cracking around the impact point.

Renekton heard her gasp, and felt the lungs underneath his grasp collapse as her ribs fell inward. Balancing himself with his blade on the ground, he leaned forward and snapped his jaws round her head, reveling in the choked hiss of pain that emanated from her a split-second before his teeth tore through her skull, leaving the bone crunching in his mouth and her brain matter squishing against his teeth.

He retracted his jaws, cackling madly as her crushed head's content fell down his throat, and he gulped them down. Without another moment's hesitation, he bent back down again and began to feast, his powerful teeth ripping and tearing her flesh apart while simultaneously ingesting the meat, leaving his jaw caked with blood and bits of gore.

Nasus was just like the rest of them. If only tainted individuals sought his counsel and his books, he could be no better than them. In fact, none who were pure of thoughts ever had come to seek the knowledge Renekton guarded. No one!

Renkton stood up, his leathery tongue slipping out from between his teeth to lick at the blood that drenched his metallic scales. He would be dealt with soon enough...after he had dealt with the rest of the corrupt world.

A new title would have to be assigned to him. He was no longer the Guardian of the Sands, a warden of a corrupt library.

No, something else was more fitting, and his mind provided the answer with a chuckle.

_Butcher_.

Yes that would be fitting.

* * *

Renekton laughed crazily, sprawled across the floor of a circular stone chamber, his limbs held to the floor with magical chains as his blood-red eyes surveyed his surroundings, grey to all but his red-focused eyes. His blade was still clutched in one hand-they hadn't been able to separate him from it.

Nasus shook his head, sighing dejectedly as he turned towards the older female Summoner, who had followed him into the room.

"We found him in Noxus. He'd slaughtered his way through the lower levels, before Miss Cassiopeia du Couteau managed to subdue him."

The Curator raised a golden eyebrow, failing to see the significance, and the female Summoner chuckled.

"The instant she got near, not even into his sight range, he ignored everyone else and went for her. Made him remarkably easy to bring down, so we'll credit her for that."

Nasus did not share her amusement. With a disgusted snarl, he turned back to watch his brother languishing on the ground, still ceaselessly muttering under his breath.

"Why do you not allow me to end him? He will only bring ruin."

"He is our prisoner, Curator. Your contract says nothing regarding what would happen if we caught him."

A smile ghosted her features.

"His fate is ours to decide-and do not concern yourself. He will not die yet. We have...a greater purpose for him."

Of course, Nasus mused. The Institute of War needed more pawns for its war games.

"You do not deserve this slavery, brother."

Jackal-head turned away, Nasus set his jaw as he stomped out, his timeless anger and despondence seeping into the ground with each heavy step.

"I will put you down, brother, and free you from this torment. For your own sake."

And with that, Nasus departed, snatching up his staff and making his way to his Library. He had much to research.

* * *

Renekton's blood boiled as he saw Nasus watching him from a distance, safe and out of range while his chains held him down, rendering his limbs dull and lifeless through extended confinement. When the door closed behind him shutting any chance of quenching the fire in his veins, he roared, the sound reverberating throughout the chamber and shaking the very foundation with his rage.

How _dare_ he show his face! His pup of a brother demonstrated his true nature by aiding the weak denizens of this world in his capture! He'd show them! He'd show them all!

Nasus thought himself so much more powerful, with his hundreds of idle hours spent by a bookcase, studying battle techniques and spells. He thought himself so much greater, by virtue of his age and his having never had to deal with the worst the world had to offer.

But Renekton had a different kind of teacher, one that could topple even the most stalwart of mountains and tear apart those who stood in his way, heedless of injuries and restraining forces. One that, combined with his jaws, claws, blade, and raw power, eclipsed even that of his brother.

Rage.

"Why do you wish to join the League, Renekton?"

Another voice, old and female, but not that of a human seeking counsel, pounded his head. He roared in frustration, straining against his bonds and leaving great gashes in the stone floor.

Renekton's only response was a booming roar, directed at the noise in his head.

There was a pause as he howled, straining against his bonds.

"Why do you wish to join the L-"

The voice was cut off by a crunching noise as Renekton, straining against his chains, actually _ripped_ part of the floor off, chunks white marble and dust caking his claws. His jaws snapped the chain connecting his wrist to the broken piece of the floor, but the shackle remained. With a cackle of terrifying joy, the he ripped his other arm free and made a mad dash for the doorway, scaly body sleek and aerodynamic despite his exhaustion.

"Hurry! Prepare the-"

Whatever she meant to say was cut off as Renekton moved to head-butt the doorway, expecting his incredible strength, empowered by his rage and the prospect of freedom, to utterly destroy the barrier in front of him.

Instead, his head rang as a shielding spell erected itself around the door a split-second before he connected, and his jaws slammed painfully together. His roar became a snarl of frustration, and Renekton pushed himself off the wall and crumpled, the chain on one hand still connected to a section of the floor, that he had managed to drag along with him in his fruitless burst of speed. The voices of the Summoners left his head, and he was finally back in a position to mutter darkly to himself, scratching his claws against the ground and leaving deep gashes in the stone with his blade.

Even it took him a millennium, Renekton would see Nasus cower in fear moments before his jaws closed around his brother's head, snuffing his life out forever. The Butcher of the Sands would have his harvest, no matter what. And he would rage, against his prison and those who worked to keep him in it, until at last he was free.

* * *

_And thus Renekton joined the League __:p_

_Hope you enjoyed. Next one should be on someone similar..._


End file.
